Unusual Meeting
by Pyrochan
Summary: "If you didn't need some sort of escape, then you wouldn't be here," the younger man told him. -- An unlikely meeting between two rival assassins. [one-shot]


Author's Notes: Let's see, this short, sweet, simple one-shot fic was inspired by a German WK fic I read, that was absolutely hilarious. If I could remember the title/author, I'd recommend others that know German to read it. Damn my memory. This was also inspired by a conversation I had with one of my best friends. When we were rp-ing, this fic idea popped in my head. 

Disclaimer: These bishounen do not belong to me. *sobs* They belong to Takehito Koyasu *swoons* and Project Weiss and whoever owns them that I didn't list here. Speaking of which, I'm sure someone has written something similar to this (like someone hasn't conceived this idea). I don't plagiarize fics. I didn't copy this from someone else's work, so if it looks similar, don't email me with a 'You %#^%$&%*-ing copycat' message or something.

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Unusual Meeting

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He'd actually given the headache a name. In fact, it had three names-- Schuldig, Farfarello, and Nagi. Appropriately named after the three people that had given him this headache. He sighed, taking off his glasses and setting them down on the desk. A part of him wondered why he didn't just pack up and get an apartment of his own. 

Another part of him answered that without him, the Schwarz apartment would be more chaotic. It was his job to maintain order in the household, and one hell of a problem when just about everyone else living here was insane. He could swear he lived in an asylum. Even Nagi was showing signs of insanity. No wait, Nagi was acting like a normal pain-in-the-ass teenager. Sometimes he didn't know if he preferred that Nagi just simply be insane or not.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in a failed attempt to make the pain throbbing in his head go away. He opened up one eye and glanced at his clock, and sighed again. It was still too early to pop a few pills and go to bed. He wouldn't scratch off getting some medicine in his system to get rid of the headache, but he decided that he definitely needed to get some quiet time away from the members of this household.

He stood up from his desk, grabbed his glasses, and left the room. Even from the hallway that lead to the living room, he could hear the television blaring. He groaned, and headed towards the source of the noise. 

In the living room, Schuldig was sprawled lying across the couch. Rather than watching the television, he was reading a magazine. Brad frowned and snatched the remote that lay on Schuldig's chest and turned the television off. What he got was the response that he expected.

"Hey! I was watching that!" Schuldig glared and took back the remote.

"No you weren't," Brad answered, continuing his way past Schuldig and towards the kitchen.

Perhaps he shouldn't have entered the kitchen. Perhaps he should have just gone to bed, or left the apartment without taking anything to dim out his headache. Perhaps he should have kept Farfarello locked up all day. Because those options hadn't been taken in the past, it left the affect what Brad saw now. The kitchen was a complete disaster, accompanied with Farfarello, whom he assumed to be the source of such occurrence in the kitchen.

"What...the hell did you do?" Brad asked, very calmly, fighting the urge to run back to his room, grab his gun, come back and shoot the Irishman.

Farfarello looked up from his spot on the messy kitchen floor, "Nagi threw out one of my knives, and I was trying to find it."

Brad's jaw tightened, as he observed what he now knew to be the contents of the garbage can. It littered the entire kitchen floor, and would be a pain to clean up. Forgetting his need for any headache medicine, Brad left the kitchen, passed the living room and returned to the hallways where he came from moments earlier. Rather than go back to his room, he opened the door to another room, Nagi's.

"Get out!" Nagi yelled, immediately upon Brad's entry.

Thankful that Nagi hadn't telekinetically slammed the door on him, Brad ignored Nagi and entered the room anyway. Nagi glowered, pushing aside the homework he had been doing. His look demanded something along the lines of 'what-do-you-want', but instead he said nothing, waiting for Brad to speak.

"Did you throw out one of Farfarello's knives?" Brad asked.

Nagi shrugged, "Maybe."

Brad's lips thinned, "May I ask why?"

"No you may not. Get out."

"There's a mess in the kitchen that demands your cleaning, along with Farfarello, who needs to be locked up," Brad told him.

"I'm busy," Nagi argued, "Just do it yourself."

Normally at this point, Brad would have announced that Nagi was grounded, but he had long since learned the consequences of grounding a teenaged telekinetic. There's was also a catch to taking away Nagi's allowance, because he would only hack into Brad's back account and destroy everything without a second thought. The best he could do was tactful approach.

"Nagi."

The boy glanced up from his homework paper.

"If you would be so kind as to clean up the kitchen mess," he stated, through gritted teeth, "I have a severe headache and I just don't need this right now. You are more useful when you are a help, rather than a nuisance."

"Fine!" Nagi shouted in an exasperated sigh, sending his homework flying across the room in a bout of anger.

Brad narrowly dodged the books, then followed Nagi out of the room and back towards the kitchen. Farfarello had left the room, and was now seated in the living room watching the television, which not to Brad's surprise, the volume of it was notably higher. He walked past Nagi and to the cabinet, grabbing out some Advil, then rinsing them down with a few sips of water.

Setting the empty glass in the sink, he went back to the living room, grabbing his coat out of the closet.

"Where are you going?" Schuldig asked, as he watched Brad put on a coat.

"Out," Brad answered.

"And you'll be back when?" the German continued.

"Maybe never."

"Good. I'll have fun selling all your junk then."

Brad glared at the redhead, as he put his shoes on. He really needed to get out of here, before Schwarz became a group of only three members, or maybe only two. In a way, it was a good thing that he wasn't armed. He met the German's smirk with an icy glare.

"I wouldn't advise you to touch anything that is mine. It might provoke me to end your sorry excuse for a life."

"I'm scared," Schuldig shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face.

It was pointless to argue with him, Brad remembered. Instead, he grabbed his car keys, and left. As the door closed behind him, he wondered if it was really safe to leave the three of them home in such chaotic states. For a moment, he didn't care what happened.

When he reached his car, a drive didn't seem very appealing to him. Walking would take longer, and he wouldn't have wasted any money on gas by driving around town in an attempt to just get away. He pocketed his keys, glanced up at the blue sky, and decided that it would be better to just walk. 

The weather certainly agreed with him. It was a cool autumn day, the light breeze was refreshing as it blew through his hair and caressed his face. He took a breath and started walking. He didn't know where he was headed, but also he didn't care. He just had to get away from them. 

The further away he got from the apartment, the softer the pain throbbing in his head seemed to get. The sidewalk was littered with leaves that crunched under his shoe, as he neared the park. Sometimes he came here on other occasions that he felt the need to get away. There was a bench set adjacent from a fountain, and under a tree that he liked to sit on. Remembering it's location, he headed there.

The park was nearly empty, which was unusual. He thought that there would be people outside trying to enjoy the weather before the brutal cold of winter set in. An empty park though, meant a place where he could just be alone. It was to his satisfaction that people remained indoors today.

He paused as he neared the area where the bench was set. On the bench sat a figure. The person's back was turned toward him, as the person leaned against the bench. The person's head was turned up towards the sky as if in deep thought. Brad recognized the chocolate brown hair and athletically built body immediately: Hidaka Ken of Weiß.

He frowned, nearly deciding to leave him be and just go sit on another bench, but something stopped him. Why would he want to confront a member of Weiß? Almost as if his feet were ignoring his commands to go elsewhere, he walked across the grass and towards the tree where the bench sat under.

"Is it just you, or are your friends around?" Brad asked.

The answer he got was what he expected. Ken's eyes flew open, he must have been asleep Brad noted, Ken gasped and exclaimed,"Schwarz!"

Brad gave a short nod and sat on the far end of the bench, the furthest he could get away from the ex-J-league player.

"And your friends?" Ken asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice, "Are they here?"

"I'm alone today."

"So then what do you want?" Ken asked, still wary of the American.

"I didn't say I wanted anything," Brad said, then added, "No, I'm not going to attack you."

Ken opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out. Brad smirked in response. At least the Weiß member knew that he would have no chance against attacking Brad. He regarded him for a moment, watching as he slowly accepted the truce that Brad set.

"So then what are you doing here?" Ken asked, starting up a conversation.

"Well, it is nice weather," Brad replied.

"You don't seem the type to go out for a stroll," Ken observed.

"As a matter of fact, I go out for walks all the time, as long as the weather permits."

"Oh."

Brad didn't bother to ask Ken to explain his reason for being there. Frankly, he couldn't care less. The soccer ball resting on the grass by Ken's feet was explanation enough. He let an air of silence settle between them, hoping it would stay that way until one of them left. Unfortunately, Brad knew that wouldn't happen.

"I come here whenever the weather permits as well," Ken spoke up, "Sometimes you just feel the need to get away from everything, and the park is a great place to do that."

Brad merely nodded in response.

"So you come here -to this park- often?"

"Yes, why?"

"Then you must know that I coach children's soccer," Ken picked up his soccer ball from the grass, and tossed it in the air a few times, "Just _that_...is a great escape from it all. It's just me and the kids. I'm not a florist, I'm not an assassin, I'm not even a J-league player. I'm just...me."

Brad said nothing.

"Ah...sorry," Ken apologized, "When I have someone to listen, I just tend to ramble."

__

I wasn't really listening, Brad thought.

"Ne, you have anything that you use as an escape?"

"I don't need anything like that," Brad replied, irritably.

"If you didn't need some sort of escape, then you wouldn't be here," the younger man said.

Brad shrugged.

"You know how to play soccer?"

Brad shook his head.

Ken chuckled, tossing his ball in the air again, "It's quite simple, just kicking a ball around and into a goal. The real secret is to have skill. I could teach you."

Brad stiffened, "I'm not interested."

"Everyone that I've taught the game to has liked it. You don't want to try it?"

"It's a filthy sport. I don't care to get dirt on my clothes," Brad argued.

"That's what doing laundry is for. And taking showers. The dirt comes right off."

"Not grass stains."

"I don't imagine you'll be sliding around. The grass isn't slick," Ken said.

"I said I wasn't interested."

Ken sighed, and stood up from the bench, taking his soccer ball with him. For a moment, Brad thought Ken was going to leave, as he watched the brunette walk away. That was until he foresaw what would happen. Dropping the ball on the grass, Ken gave it a good swift kick. It soared through the air right at Brad, who caught it before the ball hit him.

"I was hoping you'd see that coming," Ken grinned, "Well? Kick it back."

Brad glanced at the soccer ball, then at Ken. He smirked. Perhaps the only way to silence the J-league player was to knock him out with his own soccer ball. Clearly noting that his shoes were not meant for kicking soccer balls around, Brad stood up from the bench and kicked the ball at Ken.

Rather than the ball hitting his head, Ken jumped and the soccer ball hit him in the chest. He caught the ball, and looked at Brad.

"Well, at least you know how to kick at a target. I won't really have to teach you much," Ken told him.

Brad shook his head, "Go find someone else to play with."

Ken frowned, "But there's no one here."

"So go to another park."

"I like this one. I have some type of attachment to this park. You do too, ne? Or else you wouldn't have come here."

"I wouldn't have come here, if I would have known that you would be here."

"Don't See everything then, do you?" Ken guessed.

Brad returned the comment with an icy glare.

Ken just smiled, despite himself, "Well, I'm going to go get a drink," he gestured to a food stand all the way across the park, "Watch my ball, ok?"

Before Brad could answer in the negative, he caught the ball that was kicked straight at him again. Ken left the area, and Brad let the ball fall to the grass and watched as it rolled away a little. He wasn't obligated to stay here, but another option would be to go back to the apartment. No, he'd rather catch soccer balls aimed at his head than go back to the apartment.

He stared down at the ground and let his thoughts wander. Quite a few minutes must have passed in such a short time, because Ken came back quickly. The sound of his shoes hitting the grass interrupted Brad's train of thought.

"Here, catch," Ken's voice rang out.

Brad did, and glanced at the water bottle in his hand, then at Ken who was drinking from his own water bottle, "What's this for?"

"Well..." Ken admitted, "I thought you might be thirsty. You _did_ walk here, didn't you? It's just a guess...since none of the cars parked around here look like they'd be yours. And I didn't know what you like to drink, so you'll have to settle for water."

Brad eyed the water bottle suspiciously, then decided that it didn't look like it was tampered with or poisoned. He opened it and took a few sips. It wasn't the usually bottled brand that he drank, but as soon as the cool liquid hit his mouth, he realized that in fact he was thirsty.

"So are you up for a little one-on-one soccer?" Ken asked, then glanced at his watch, "My work shift starts in an hour, but I have some time to play."

"Why don't you show me your techniques?" Brad suggested.

"Ah, well, most of them I can't just act out. I just...do them naturally," Ken said, a slight blush showing on his cheeks.

"Oh."

"Trying to show-off makes me all clumsy, and I get the jitters when there's only a one-person audience," Ken further explained, the blush getting redder.

Brad nodded, taking another sip of his water.

"Maybe we could just...kick the ball back and forth?"

"I don't--"

"Come on, I won't tell anyone that played a little bit of soccer with the leader of Schwarz-- if that will protect your reputation," Ken grinned.

"That wasn't my first concern," Brad said.

Ken shrugged, "You want that I should just kick the soccer ball at you all day?"

"That wouldn't be advisable."

Ken chuckled, "Well?"

"I just don't want to play."

"You're no fun," Ken mock-pouted and stuck his tongue out.

"You're not the first to tell me that," Brad told him.

Ken sighed and picked up his soccer ball, "Fine, be that way. I guess I'll get going now. Maybe I'll see you around again?"

"Perhaps."

Brad watched as Ken walked away. He frowned, finishing off the rest of his water, and tossed the empty water bottle in the trash. He pocketed his hands, and walked in the opposite direction that Ken had. The park seemed quite lonely now. 

Time to return to the insanity that was the Schwarz apartment. This particular outing to the park had almost let him completely escape. Perhaps next time he decided to come here, he'd wear shoes that were meant for kicking around a soccer ball.

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Author's notes: Hope ya liked it. ^_^ Not perfect, but I tried. Don't forget to review, ne?


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